


It May Try to Change You

by Blueskullcandy



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood and Violence, Eye Trauma, Graphic Description, I'm Sorry, I'm just putting that tag to be safe, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Oops, based on that one interaction between Four and Time referencing the master sword, be careful, but like, fi does an uh oh, if you have problems with eye stuff tho, it isn't really eye trauma, its not in an inherently violent or gross way?, lets just say that there is a moment where eyes do something they shouldnt, thats a juvenile way of putting it but its true
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23890756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskullcandy/pseuds/Blueskullcandy
Summary: Sky knows how he can help, even if he cannot fight.Because no matter how powerful Four claims his blade to be, it is no match for the sword that guided him through his quest. The sword that seals the darkness. The sword that killed Demise.And so, despite the shooting pain that rings all throughout his arms, Sky pulls his shoulder back, shouts, “Four! Catch!” and then slingshots his arm forward, sending the Master Sword flying.
Comments: 37
Kudos: 236





	It May Try to Change You

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this as an extreme live write on the discord server a couple of weeks ago. Finally decided to edit it tonight instead of doing my homework. Ya'll know what its like.
> 
> So uhhh, this is rated mature mostly for safety. Its pretty bloody, but other than that, it is relatively tame. There is a very brief description of eyes that is not exactly natural, but not exactly eye horror per say which is why I added the Eye Trauma tag, but if you at all have a problem with eyes... maybe skip this one. And if you get squeamish about blood specifically, please be careful
> 
> Okay, here we go!

Sky can see the moment the fight starts to go south.

He sees it in the way Twilight’s left leg snaps at an unnatural angle– his knee sliding out of place with a disturbing  _ pop _ , the entire thing jutting entirely to the left– under the force of a moblin’s bone studded club. Can see it in the way that Wild is swatted away like an annoying gnat when he tries to run to his mentor. Can hear it in the way the champion crashes into a tree with a sickening crunch and doesn't get back up.

He can see it in the way that Warriors, even in successfully taking down all of the archers, seems to have sprouted wings mid battle with the amount of arrows lodged in his back. Can see it in the way the Old Man is being dragged from the field of combat by Hyrule, a crimson carpet blooming in his wake.

He can see it in the way Hyrule runs back and forth, pulling the injured from the jaws of death, gathering them under himself like an overprotective Loftwing, his skin crackling with searing magic as he sets off flares of fire, directs crackles of thundering lightning, summons luminous orange shields. 

He can see it in the way Hyrule surrounds himself with a miasma of pink and yellow magic, young starflower and sweet briar roses blooming in the air as he tries desperately to heal what he can. Can see it when Hyrule collapses under the strain of his own magic, Time’s gaping wound closed, Warriors stabilized, and Wild conscious once more, if only just.

Sky can  _ feel _ the moment the battle goes from terrible to desperate as a moblin, one of his own, giant, bulbose and pink, with black blood bubbling at its lips, brings the steel of a massive spear down on his arm guards, shattering both his wrists. 

A hand hooks in his sailcloth, hauling him back and away from another devastating strike as two small blurs rush the beast from opposite sides. Two black lines, almost perpendicular, open up in the moblins rotund stomach. A tidal wave of black rushes out as the ‘blin bellows and then evaporates into black and orange smoke. 

Four and Wind don't pause to celebrate the win, already rushing off to their next victim

There are, after all, three more of Sky’s moblin’s still up and hungry for a taste of the hero's blood.

The pull in his sailcloth becomes more insistent, dragging him off balance. And with a final yank, Sky finds himself beside the other injured heroes, Legend placing himself in front of all of them, Fire Rod held at the ready.

“I can still fight!” Sky gasps out, stepping forward despite the pain. 

The Master Sword droops in his shaking hands, the weight of the blade wrenching at the misplaced remnants of his wrist bones, sending stabs of pain all the way up through his arms.

But that doesn't matter. That doesn't matter because no matter how fast Wind and Four are, Sky can see their steps start to flag. He can see when a spear, large enough to run Four through eight times over grazes the small boy's side, sending him reeling. He can see when Wind stumbles and is almost crushed under the weight of a massive, metal reinforced shield.

So, despite the pain, Sky clenches his hands more firmly around the pommel of his sword and takes another step forward. 

He needs to get in there. He needs to help. He needs to protect them.

He needs to do something before they are injured in a way that cannot be wiped away with a flash of pink magic.

“Really, Sky? Fight?” Legend laughs without humor, the words hissed out from between gritted teeth as he swings the Fire Rod in an upward swinging arch. Flames erupt around one of the beasts, encasing it almost completely. “With what? Your feet?”

Sky’s eyes flick angrily from the raging battle to the veteran hero’s face, and for the first time, the Skyloftian can see the strain that Legend must be under too. Whatever magic he uses to get those rods of his to work is not unlimited. The pink haired hero looks woozy, eyes blinking rapidly. Sweat beads at his forehead.

A pained shout, and Wind comes vaulting toward them, having been knocked away by a powerful shoulder check. He lands in the dirt mere feet away, struggles valiantly to his feet despite his shaking arms and knees, and then collapses face first into the dirt, strength leaving him.

With an enraged scream, Legend thrusts the Fire Rod skyward. In response, a wall of flame shoots up from the ground, boxing in the most severely wounded of the last three Moblins and incinerating it in seconds.

And then, just like Wind, Legend’s legs fall out from under him.

And then, Four stands alone, two massive moblins bearing down on him.

And then, Sky knows how he can help, even if he cannot fight.

Because no matter how powerful Four claims his blade to be, it is no match for the sword that guided him through his quest. The sword that seals the darkness. The sword that killed Demise. 

And so, despite the shooting pain that rings all throughout his arms, Sky pulls his shoulder back, shouts, “Four! Catch!” and then slingshots his arm forward, sending the Master Sword flying.

The Four Sword clatters to the ground as it’s hero catches the blade of evil’s bane on instinct alone.

And Four twitches.

And Four _ screams. _

Four screams and whirls around, sword almost as long as he is tall biting easily into the legs of the beast closest to him. He screams and drags the blade viciously into the Moblin’s thigh, slicing a long, deep line across both legs as he stumbles past the lumbering beast.

With a somewhat jerky roll, Four dives around the side of the hobbled enemy just as it’s compatriot thrusts its spear forward, effectively dodging the attack. 

Four finishes his maneuver, quickly using the momentum to pop himself back up to his feet. But not gracefully. It's as though his limbs are not co-operating the way they should, his left leg kicking out too hard while his right doesn't kick hard enough. He makes it to a standing position, but only just.

And for a second, the smithy looks dazed and confused, like his isn't quite sure how he got there. His eyes are half lidded, his mouth opening and closing rhythmically in unheard mumbles. His feet shuffle but not move. His arms swing like they’re getting used to the feeling rather than actually attacking the beast. His head swings back and forth, up and down, turning circles as though he is trying to see the entire world at once.

The enraged roar of the moblin as it tries to turn toward the hero seems to drag Four from the moment of confusion, and with a screeching call, the smithy somehow manages to launch himself upward, the Master Sword carving waterfalls of sable in the beast’s spine as the hero rises. 

Using the momentum of the jump, Four lets the sword fly above his head. And then as gravity takes hold of the smaller hero once more, he uses both hands to smash the blade into the beast’s skull, the metal cleaving it’s head partly in half.

_ Helm Splitter,  _ Sky thinks distantly as Four lands heavily on his feet, and then falls to his knees as the dying screams of the moblin rise into the air. 

The small hero hefts himself back into a standing position, swaying on his legs as he stares down their last enemy. 

Blood drips in thick, crimson rivulets down the boy's nose. 

But Sky can’t remember seeing him be hit, let alone in the face.

The last Moblin takes the end if it’s spear in two hands, shield all but forgotten as it’s round yellow eyes zero in on the smithy. With a full body movement, the beast lunges forward, thrusting the weapon at the teen’s head. 

Four only barely manages to dodge, more of a stumble than a roll, eyes fluttering, face cringing as that dizzy expression falls back on his face.

Seeing a moment of weakness, the moblin changes tactics, flips the spear backwards, and whips it in a wide arching swing. The blunt edge of the steel catches the smithy in the cheek, sending him flying as his neck snaps to the side.

Four lands with a choked sob and Sky is seconds away from throwing himself back into the fray, empty hands and broken wrists be damned, but quickly enough, the smithy pushes himself back to his feet with shaking hands. 

For a second, the smithy just stands and shakes, his hands clasped on his knees as he leans forward and tries to steady his labored breathing. His golden hair falls in curtains around his face, obscuring it from view.

Body twitching, legs shuffling, Four straightens and whips his locks out of his face with an errant hand and–

And  _ Hylia _ , when Sky sees Four’s face, his heart drops out of his chest, his whole body going cold.

Because Four’s face is absolutely covered in blood. His nose gushes crimson like a waterfall, the gore covering his mouth and chin and dripping in streams even lower, down his neck and onto his chest. Part of his cheek has burst open with the force of the last blow, creating a slit over his left cheekbone and adding another tributary river to the delta of blood that is the small hero’s face.

Even the soft gold of his hair isn't safe, the tips of the strands stained copper, a sick mockery of the little feather earring that Four usually wears. 

With a staggering step forward, Four lets the Master Sword drop a bit as he takes one hand from the pommel and swipes it across his face, smearing the blood further. 

And as he pushes the sticky strands of hair from his cheeks back into place behind his ears, Sky catches a glance of that little feather earring. 

It is dyed completely red

Crimson, thick and bright and terrible, is dripping from _ inside _ of Four’s ears, down his neck and onto his shoulders.

With a war cry that Sky can now hear sounds more like a sob, Four rushes back into the fray on tripping feet. 

The moblin thunders forward to meet him.

With a dribbling smile, terrible smile, the pink monster tries the same tactic as before, swinging the steel pole-end of the spear in a semicircle. No doubt hoping to catch the smithy unawares once more. Four, however, seems to see it coming, clumsily diving beneath the wide arc and slicing into the moblin’s exposed arm as it passes overhead. 

The blow, though jerky and uncoordinated, is enough to cause the moblin to drop its weapon with a snorting scream.

It only has milliseconds to realize its mistake before the Master Sword is lodged in it’s chest.

And then it is gone in a puff of smoke.

And then Four stands alone on the now silent battlefield.

And then Four collapses like a puppet without its strings, down into the blood spattered dirt as he screams and writhes in agony.

Sky shoves himself up from his half kneeling position, his hands screaming in protest as he pushes his weight onto them, but that  _ doesn't matter right now _ . 

What matters is the teen seizing in the dirt, screaming and coughing and mumbling from between blood splatter lips as his whole body contorts in pain.

In seconds, Sky throws himself down next to the teen, hands hovering over the boy as another tremor shakes through Four’s body, another sob ripped from the smaller’s throat. 

As he gazes down at the teen, Sky can see that Four’s entire body is as rigid as a board, his eyes squeezed shut as his muscles seize. Its as though he's been struck by lightning.

Blood still pours from his nose, and now that he's on his back, the smithy begins to choke on the thick, iron river as it drips down his throat. Wet coughs add to his shaking as red begins to drip from his lips.

Along with blood, nonsense words dribble from Four’s mouth, shouts of “ _ b--bburns, burns! lllllet BURNS ittt go huurrts c-an’t c an’t can’t She’s–– She’s so LOUD. shut up shut shut up!”  _ boiling over from his mouth in waves.

And yet despite the garbled words, despite the screams that drown them out, despite the blood, and despite the teen’s painfully writhing body right next to him, within reach, Sky cannot bring himself to touch the kid. 

Sky’s hands hover over Four’s chest but do not touch. He does not touch because if he does, he fears he will only hurt the boy further. Fears that if he touches the teen, the smithy will shatter into pieces.

Sky’s hand’s hover but do not touch because Sky doesn't know what to do. Sky doesnt know what to do because he doesn’t know what's wrong. 

Sky feels helpless.

A body lands heavily at the skyloftian’s side and Legend immediately does what Sky cannot, grabbing hold of Four’s wrists and holding them down to the ground. Four screams–whether in protest or delirious fear, Sky can’t tell– but Legend bears down harder, trying to keep the kid from hurting himself further as his convulsions increase, the smithy’s chest and neck arching off the dirt.

“What the fuck happened?” Legend shouts above Four’s sobbing, leaning his weight further onto the boy.

“I-I don't know!” Sky cries back. “He– he wasn’t hit that badly! He was fine a minute ago!”

One of Four’s arms, his right, wrenches free of Legend’s steely grasp and launches upward, delivering a nasty punch directly to the Veteran hero's chin. He takes it with a grunted curse, a spit of blood. In seconds he's got the arm back under control, forcing it down and into Four’s side once more.

“Well, evidently,”Legend hisses as another round of convulsions has the smithy’s back arching off the ground, “he's not fine now!” 

With a final heave, a final jolt, Four’s body seems to lose it’s fight, suddenly going limp in the dirt as sobbing and choking and rapid, hysterical breathing overtakes the screams. 

Hand’s that were once holding Four down shift, feeling for his pulse. The veteran must not like what he feels because he turns his eyes, bright and electric and scared, up to Sky’s face.

“I-It’s going too fast,” he reports grimly. 

A shake of the head, fear and panic mixing into the unlikely result of anger.

“Do something!” Legend demands, voice high and strained. “Fucking– try and calm him down! Comfort him! Anything!”

Legend’s words, his fear–an expression the Chosen hero has never seen on the Veteran’s face before– jolts Sky into action. He quickly crawls around Four’s side until he sits by the smaller teen’s head. Then, with shaking hands and throbbing arms, Sky gently pulls the twitching smithy’s head into his lap and begins to card his fingers through the teen’s blood sticky hair.

“You’re going to be okay.” Sky says softly, even as his words shake almost as badly as Four was a few seconds ago. 

“You’re going to be just fine, Four,” Sky promises even as more blood gushes from the teen’s nose, his mouth, his ears, covering the Skyloftian’s lap in the terrible, bubbling warmth.

“We’ll fix you right up, Smithy. Good as new,” Sky says as confidently as possible even as Legend begins a second run through of his bag, a second search for a potion, a fairy, anything. And coming up empty. 

“N-nnno,” the smithy coughs, more crimson dripping down his chin. “Not– not– Broken! –p-please... please stop! Not! Broken!”

Sky hushes the teen before his hysterical words can force his breath to go any faster. Sky hushes Four and begins humming softly under his breath as he brushes his fingers through another section of blood caked hair. 

He hums, hoping that the melody will soothe the teen just like it has soothed him so many times over the years.. 

He hums the Ballad of the Goddess.

And Four’s eyes snap open.

And Sky wishes they had not.

Because there is something terribly wrong with the smithy’s eyes.

Because Four’s pupils are tiny, black pin pricks, and yet, black spiderwebs from them, turning the boy’s eyes into a horrible stained glass window. The color between each fragment of his irises shifts and whirls and changes, a wave of blue, a blaze of red, green sprouting from nothing and then giving way to stoney purple.

With another sob, the smithy’s chest rises from the ground and slams back down, and Sky watches as more black lines sprout from the teen’s pupil, further shattering the painted glass. The colors whirl faster and faster and faster, cartwheeling and mixing and pulling apart pulling apart pulling apart–

Four screams, an agonized wail of pain and grief and Sky watches as the amethyst pulls away from the other three colors entirely and fades away to nothing, consumed by the black.

Red, green, and blue are left, the three colors flicking this way and that, hopping over the lines of black, flicking back and forth, up and down. Searching. Searching. Searching.

Another scream pierces through the air, this one angry, demanding revenge and Sky watches as the red bleeds away into the black, leaving just the whirling green and the crashing blue.

Four’s eyes slam back shut as a third, gut wrenching screech is pulled from his throat. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Legend shouts, coming up from his bag empty for the third time. He throws it away in his anger and drags himself closer to Four’s side once more.

Tears drip from the veteran’s face onto the quadripartite tunic, and Sky notices, for the first time, that his own face is wet as well, his own tears dripping into Four’s golden hair. 

He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand!

Sky pulls the smithy even further into his lap, desperate to hold him, help him, comfort him, give him anything he needs and–

A bright light flashes in Sky’s face.

He blinks against the light, bringing one hand to shield his eyes–

It is the sun, reflecting off the blackened blade of the Master Sword.

The Master Sword, still clutched in Four’s hand despite everything.

And the world turns on its head.

Because Four had always refused to touch the Master Sword. Had refused it’s pommel when Legend offered it to him, wanting to forge it better, stronger. Had leaned away from the blade when Sky had held it up for comparison, his face smiling and laughing but leaning away all the same.

It doesn't make sense. 

She would never hurt one of her Chosen Ones!

She only ever wanted to help them!

_ She’s–– She’s so LOUD. shut up shut shut up! _

She only ever wanted to heal them!

_ –p-please... please stop! Not! Broken! _

And yet Sky can come up with no better explanation.

And _Hylia,_ he was the one to give the teen the sword. Threw it at him so fast, he had no choice but to catch. 

His fault. _His_ fault that Four is like this.

So without waiting another second, Sky pulls Four closer, leans back so his leg is free, and kicks the pommel of the Master Sword sword out of the teen’s hand.

And finally, finally, Four goes still. 

Without waiting for an explanation, Legend immediately grips the teen’s hand once more, bringing two fingers to his wrist. Checking his pulse.

“He’s alive.” Legend says, voice thick and wet, gasping. “He’s alive.”

Before Sky can reveal in the moment, can enjoy knowing that their friend is not dying by _his hand_ , Four lurches up, his forehead colliding hard with Sky’s chin as he lunges away from the comforting arms around him.

It takes Sky a moment to blink the stars from his eyes, but when he does, the sight breaks his heart.

Because it's Four, covered in blood and shaking, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs, making himself as small as possible as he hugs himself. 

Just like before, Sky is next to him in a second, gently placing a hand on the teen’s shoulder.

He doesn't react.

In fact he begins to rock himself, his arms clutching even more tightly around his legs as shuddering sobs and little mumbled words begin to slip from the teen’s lips.

“Not broken… Not broken. W-we tried to tell Her. She wouldn't listen. Wouldn't listen. Not broken. Not Broken!”

“Four?” Sky asks gently rubbing a hand comfortingly over the teens shoulder. 

They... they had gotten the sword away from him in time, right? Sky still wasn't sure what had caused this incident, but Four was going to be okay now. The sword... the sword was away from him now.

And yet the smithy does not react to Sky's soft question. Doesn't seem to register the soft circling motions of the older hero's hands.

No reaction. Only more rocking. More mumbles.

“Quiet quiet, quiet, quiet…” Four mutters, his words fast and slurring. His breath is fast, scared, panicking.

The smithy takes in a shuddering breath, trying to ground himself, but doesnt look up. He collapses more fully into his own arms, as if trying to take comfort in his own being, but coming up short somehow. 

“Guys?” He sobs, a little more coherently, and for a second, Sky's heart leaps up with joy. He's okay! He's asking for them! Asking for their comfort. Asking for their help.

But then the smithy continues: “Guys?...Red?... Vio? Where are you? I… I can’t hear you.”

Sky doesn't have time to wonder who those names belong to as Four’s head finally lifts from his arms and he turns to look directly at the Chosen Hero.

He looks directly at Sky and the Chosen Hero distantly wonders if Four’s eyes have always been teal.

“I can’t hear you guys. I can’t hear you guys at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> yikes. 
> 
> Okay, might make this a mini series on the side. Idk, I have a couple of idea brewing for this, but it would probably only be a couple of chapters long. And none quite as intense as this one.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think!
> 
> As always, hit me up @fuckit-hero-of-trains on Tumblr if you would like to chat LU or just Zelda in general.
> 
> Stay safe out there my guys!


End file.
